


Interesting Façade

by armored_alchemist



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-03 22:05:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11541360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armored_alchemist/pseuds/armored_alchemist
Summary: I didn't tag an OC.So why is there a new State Alchemist in Central?Tempest, Storm Alchemist. Brunette, plays piano passionately, with a penchant for heated arguments unmatched by even Fullmetal. For every secret he tells, there's ten he doesn't.Can't draw an alchemy circle to save your life? No problem. Alkahestry isn't the only other option around, though no one else knows that."What do you mean, where's my leg? It was... Run over by an angry Ishbalan in a tank, of course. Like my parents."





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Winry's pov

Muttering to myself about a quite annoying little red pipsqueak, I power walked down the hallway, red jacket in hand. In my hurry to escape the depression of the hospital, I hadn't realised his jacket had been shoved in with my tools. 

I halted. This, or any, hospital: so white, so clean, so sterile, so fake. So perfect in a way I could never be. On the other hand, they were unfamiliar in a way, and therefore frightening. All that sanitation to overcorrect and another the smell of death. These loud shades of white trying to deafen screams of pain. How hypocritical. Health and death, juxtaposed.I pulled up my shirt to cover my nose and took a deep breath. Holding it, I pushed on... only to open a door to this.

"I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS DAMN BODY!!"

Silence. I gaped at Al in complete shock. Ed, however, with his wide aurulent eyes, couldn't face his little brother. Couldn't look alphonse in the eye-

Ah.. What eyes?

"I never asked, for this damn body." He repeated for emphasis.

"I-I'm sorry. I know it sucks, but I did what I could -"

But ed could not finish defending his mistake.

"And you!" Creaking assaulted my ears as the boy that was a large suit of armour turned to face me. Me? Pointing his steel finger at me???

"Maybe if you'd just give up your other leg, I wouldn't have to be in this damn body!" 

Trembling, I spoke. "But Al I did - I did - I did everything I could too! But you just can't clone an entire body from only a leg!" He glared at me with such contempt that I, too, felt I had to (vehemently) defend my inadequate mistake. "Cardiac muscle! You can't! Voluntary muscles in legs don't have intercalated disks! And eye cells! Mucus! You'd have the same hairs in your legs that sprout from my calves!" I failed wildly for any relief from his condescension.

"Stem cells." Alphonse spoke, knowingly and conclusively.

The only thing... I closed my eyes, swallowed. Of course he'd know what I'd discovered only when it was too late. "I don't - or didn't, know how.. to make.."

Ed smirked evilly from his position on the hospital cot. "Of course you didn't..." At this his angelic face fell into demonic disdain. "... You dunce."

A very familiar feeling came to me. My throat closed up, my eyes pricked and I knew salted cheeks were coming even before I felt the tears roll.


	2. Tempest, a Legend?

3rd POV

"Tempest." A voice called, with no answer.

"Tempest!" Still no answer.

"TEMPEST!" The boy jerked out of dead sleep so fast his chair was knocked over backward, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

He popped to attention. Eyes forward, standing tall, straight feet with a salute glued to his forehead. "Sir Yes Sir! I was not sleeping on the job, sir! I was merely giving this tabletop a meticulous inspection, sir!" 

Somebody quietly sniggered. This caused Tempest to double take. He blinked, absorbing his surroundings.

Central headquarters' cafeteria.

People roaming their way to their cliques, who were obliviously chatting away at tables. A barrage of blue uniforms flitting in and about carrying those dull, dull green trays full of slop - food, that is. That God-awful coffee, so repugnant the odor could be smelt even here across the room, where Tempest sat separate from the crowd. Two tables away, where Mr. I'm-a-smug-LITTLE-immature-blond-alchemist-who-thinks-every-mistake-Tempest-makes-is-something-to-laugh-at was seated, complete with his signature hairbraid and expressionless brother.

But most especially, the superior officer who had called him out of sleep.

"Youre not Bradley." Tempest visibly relaxed, then frowned; realising how foolish he'd seemed. "I was dreaming about the, um , State Alchemist test, at which Bradley was present. Not that I'd ever give a fellow dog like you two cenz of respect, Mustang."

Mustang twitched, but his retort was stifled by someone a bit more important.

"That's Führer Bradley to you, Storm Alchemist."

1st POV (Tempest)

Führer Bradley stepped forward with an air of authority to meet my surprised gaze. (How did I not notice him standing there?) The whole cafeteria stilled. It's not every day the president pays a visit to a mere Alchemist.

" Führer, sir, I wasn't expecting to see you, i-" I remembered etiquette. "Greetings, Führer Bradley. What fortune I should be visited by our president in person. Something you wanted sir?" Once the people recognised we were just gonna have a normal conversation and not a knockdown dragout, typical chatter resumed. 

"I simply wishes to meet the Alchemist Colonel Mustang speaks of so fondly." 

Do what?

Guess this is it, then. The day I finally get fired. I suppose I should be honored, that I'm deemed so fucking special that I get booted by old Brad himself.

I, the soon to be ex-state Alchemist, chewed my lip. I gave an almost imperceptible glance to Mustang to assure him that, yes, he would INDEED be receiving hell once the president left. In an unusually calm tone, comparable to the eye of the storm, I spoke. "Why, Cl. Mustang." I politely nodded, " I'm honored. Thank you for putting in a good word for me. Did I tell you? My granny turns 61 next week." A small pause for thought.

I put my finger to my chin as if thinking, "I wonder what type of present I'll get her." 

But I can't get her anything if I'm dead. I'll be nice, I promise. I'll be a good little boy and respond to Mustang's beck and call like a damn mutt.

"Is that so? I wasn't aware you had a grandmother." Brat responded.

Oh no, that wasn't a typo. I call him Brat, because just like Ed, he's an immature brat who is in a position of some power and doesn't think to secure it by any means, relying solely on strength of personality and faith in their people skills. (Though from that perspective the same could be said about Mustang, too.) They think nobody would ever question them, challenge them. Führer Brat especially, is ignorant of the concept of usurping. 

"Well, everyone has a grandma, but of course I know what you mean. Sir." My face cracked a smirk at the last word, sir, a mere afterthought. 

Fire crotch (that's Mustang) ever so barely frowned. I frowned back - mentally of course- remembering exactly how sharp and observant he was. Frankly, he made me wary. One couldn't go sneaking around this guy. I was always more reserved in his presence alone, trying desperately to keep my subtle insolence in check. 

Führer Brat gestured to the chair long since knocked to the floor. "Why don't you put that back where it belongs, and you can tell me more about her in my office." Less than an order, yet more than a request. 

"Sure thing, sir!" 

In his office.

We seated ourselves at the same table in the same room he'd called Ed and tin can to, wherein they'd had the tense discussion that'd decided whether the brothers would continue their journey - or quit, and have Winry's life in danger of assassination. Funny, they chose to go against their morals and keep working as military dogs.

Why tho.

Maybe she's the best mechanic they know. Ed needs her skill. 

Maybe they worried about her poor, sweet granny, and how heartbroken she'd be without someone to keep her company. (Pinako lives alone now, but they don't know that.)

Maybe it's their no-kill morale, stretching itself to include not letting anyone get killed by their inaction. 

It could never be choosing her, just for the sake of choosing her. Truth forbid.

Immediately I put on my cheerful optimism. Smiling, I sit down in the hard, unyielding seat and begin. "So anyhow, my granny turns 61 and I'm planning on getting her a new set of wrenches, oh boy does she need wrenches! Uses em all the time in her line of work - mechanics, did I ever tell you?" 

Taking Brat's cocked eyebrow in stride, "Yes she's got to be the most fantastically skilled mechanic I've heard of and trust me I've heard tell of a lotta people who happen to be mechanics across our lovely beautiful country of Amestris, and she talks about how that the ones she's got now are old, bent broken, rusted, and almost useless, all the time! She literally can't stop complaining and lately it's been bothering me to the point that I feel it is simply my duty to do something about it, and I just wouldn't know what do if -"

If I woke up dead one morning, sniped out of existence by a certain deadly blonde because I just couldn't keep my nearly omniscient mouth shut.

"-Well, if I didn't have a day off soon, sir. And I hate to be so frank about it, sir, I really do. But it would mean so much to me if I got to see my granny." 

Just one last time. Before some skirt-wearing palm tree gets his grubby hands on another gun and blows me away, too.

Golly gee, I sure know how to put on a good show. I think I've just about got him fooled. Into thinking I'm just another ditzy dumbass.

But wait? Why is the president of an entire country easier to trick than a mere colonel? (And here we go again, back to my earlier point about being wary around that damn Mustang.)

Brat shuffled some papers around like they actually meant something. There was no need for him to open his mouth, as I had already played out all the possible ways this could go and had likewise settled on the most likely outcome of this conversation. Although, 'conversation' is a light, pleasant word which does nothing to convey the tension in the air, palpable and about as thick as homecooked stew. Thankfully I came prepared with memories ten times as bad (yay childhood).

But Mustache went ahead and opened his mouth and yada yada yada basically, I could see my granny if I quit causing fucking problems. Ok, I said. Sure thing, I said. Absolutely, and please forgive me for any troubles I've caused, I said. And just as easy as I make it out to be, I've snagged myself a free vacation to Resembool for 4 days next week.

However. Before I could make like a reverse Hogwarts character and Slyther-thefuck-out*, my company picked up his tea cup, sipped, and proceeded to open his mouth once more - probably to say some dumbshit intended to instill horror in my (nonexistent) soul. Wow.

"There seem to be some rumours going around about you, Tempest."

"Me, sir?" With all the genuine innocence I could muster. 

"That your birth place is Resembool, for example." 

DUMB SHIT. Is he daft, or did I imagine just asking him for a four day vacation to Resembool to see my F A M I L Y. You know, them what be birth you and raise you and junk? Yeah, those! I wanna see them! Cause they're in Resembool! 

Let me do a slow clap. Woohoo, Brat. You're almost as good (by which I mean bad) as your subordinates, excluding he whose crotch is of fire.

"Oh, no! Haha, just my granny lives there, sir. I was born in Xerxes." 

Xerxes, the land whose fifty million or so inhabitants mysteriously disappeared tens, maybe hundreds, of years ago? Why not! 

Apparently, my dumbshit answer - albeit to a dumbass question - was not worth the breath required to discount it. King Bradley moved to the next accusation. I mean , "rumor". 

"That you know more about our little Fullmetal than you let on." 

Yikes. Hit a truth there. But there's an easy, FAKE, explanation. Come on: two same aged people, in the same place, working the same job under the same boss, acquainted to the same people, living in the same smoggy city, fighting the same battles, etc. Lots of things are bound to be in common. And through common hardship comes an insight into the other person. Basically, I'm going through the sme struggles as he is, regretting the same horrid war & that. 

It just dawned on me that the president just called Edward "little". So I laughed. Disguising the sudden outburst, I say, "What a far stretch! Although I may concede, the boss sent us on a couple missions together. Perhaps some people saw us on the street and assumed we were best friends." 

Placing his cup down, he spoke. "Perhaps. I've also heard that you've met some interesting people."

Hellofabitch. So, he knows about .. him. What happened was a bit random. A kid with freaky green hair shaped like a spider frickin' attacked me the other day for no apparent reason. I did note a red tattoo on his mid thigh.. not that I was uh.. looking super closely at his um.. fine ass legs or anything nope. Nope. Nope. So far as I could make out the tattoo was of a snake wrapped in a circle around a star. Not sure what exactly that means, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say maybe some kind of devil worshipper or anti-God person. 

But how did Brat know about this kid? Not a body nor soul heard tell from me. Devil-kid's new around these parts, because trust me, you don't see that and not notice it. 

Cool beans though I got an answer to that, too. 'Interesting people'? Yeah. You.

"I have! Like you Führer Bradley!" A false grin spread itself from cheek to shining cheek, as of across from me sat the most wonderful person I'd ever had the pleasure to know.

My head tilted, curious. "And what do you say, sir? Of the rumors?" 

"I'd say... You're more than your face, Finn." Jesus Lord! I gave that name for the paperwork, but I didn't expect anyone to actually use it. That's one of the reasons I chose such an easy and relatively memorable name as my title, Tempest. 

"By the way, what is your last name? Colonel Mustang can't seem to find it in his files and it's interfering with the completion of some necessary paperwork." 

Hardy har har! You say Mustang, but you mean Riza. When's the last time fire crotch has bothered to spare a cursory glance to mundane paperwork? He's too busy ATTENDING to his 'fire crotch'.

..... Oops, what was I saying? "Huh? What's that again?" I stalled because thinking made me lose my train of thought. Odd as that sounds.

"I asked you," he began, this time with a much sterner tone of voice, "what is your surname, Finn?" 

A swift but meticulous analysis of my opponent guided my next words. Brat's demeanor, current glaring-ass facial expression, and previous dialogue. Dangerous, or not? I supposed not. I placed my hands upon the table. I stood up. I let myself take the risk of asking, "and yours, sir? What's your first name?" 

Because I have checked all historical records I could get ahold of - as well as having my contacts search their sources - and nowhere has yielded any info about Führer Bradley's childhood, parents, first name, etc. 

My intention was to leave him with food for thought, but just as I opened the door to exit a grey, grey room, I heard, "Be cautious, Finn. You wouldn't want to go around sayi-" 

Shut up, Brat. I've got plans for that. Plans which kept me safe from your empty threats. Plans which today landed me smack dab in the middle of highest power of the country's office and implanted gossip into people's very thoughts. I'm everywhere and we'll on my way to knowing everything. And yet, all you'd have of me, should I choose to leave, is a watch

and a legend.

I slammed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I DEARLY APOLOGISE FOR THIS RIDICULOUS PUN THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST AND IS NOT EVEN FUNNY PLS DO A HECKIN FORGIVE ...It was my attempt at clever, kay?


End file.
